By six, Alejandro's education expanded beyond strategy and leadership—it entered the realm of identity.
Rosalia began teaching him the deeper traditions of the Maranao people. Stories of ancestors who defended their lands, negotiated alliances, and preserved honor even in defeat filled their evenings. These were not just tales; they were lessons in duty and restraint.
"Strength without honor is destruction," Rosalia said. "Honor without strength is helplessness."
Alejandro listened carefully. In his other life, he had seen both extremes—and the disasters they caused.
Don Emilio, meanwhile, began physical training in earnest. Early morning runs, controlled breathing, balance exercises on uneven ground. Alejandro learned how to fall without injury, how to conserve strength, how to endure discomfort without complaint.
One day, Emilio brought him to a hill overlooking the village. "If danger comes," he said, "this is where you watch first."
Alejandro studied the land below. Paths. Water access. Shelter points. Escape routes. His mind worked faster than his body ever could.
That night, he dreamed of soldiers standing where villagers now lived. The faces were different, but the land was the same.
He woke with clarity.
"I belong to this place," he whispered. "And to its future."
The ancestors' stories, his father's discipline, his mother's wisdom—all of it fused into a single understanding: he was being shaped for something greater.
At six years old, Alejandro Navarro was no longer merely learning who he was.
He was learning what he must become.